The sea was wide and endless, painted in gentle blues and whites as morning sunlight danced over the waves. Gulls flew overhead, calling out as the breeze carried the salt of the ocean. A cliff stood nearby, where a narrow stream of freshwater rushed down into a small basin beneath, close to the sand.
Beneath the fall, Kyota stood with his head down, letting the cold water wash over his body. His eyes were half-lidded, exhausted yet calm. Dried blood trailed down his arms and chest, disappearing into the stream. The bruises from his training had faded, but new ones had formed—scars from a life chosen, not forced. He was stronger now… but burdened.
As he scrubbed his skin and let the water cool his soul, his eyes narrowed.
There—along the edge of the forest, not far from the beach—he spotted a girl lying unconscious near a tree. Her clothes were torn, her knee scraped. Without hesitation, he rushed to her and carefully picked her up. She was light—too light. Probably no older than ten.
He carried her to a small house nearby made of coral stone and patched wood. Smoke came from its chimney. As he knocked on the door, an older woman answered, and upon seeing the girl in Kyota's arms—and the blood on his clothes—her eyes went wide.
"What did you do to her?" the mother cried, trying to pull the girl away. A man stepped in with a hardened glare, raising a knife defensively.
"Wait! I found her injured near the beach. She's alright now," Kyota said calmly, placing the girl gently on a straw bed inside.
Suddenly, the girl stirred. Her eyes blinked open—and she looked up at Kyota with a small smile. "Big bro…" she mumbled, hugging his arm.
The room fell silent.
Just then, a boy came running into the house, breathless and teary-eyed. "Is my sister okay!?" He looked at Kyota, then bowed. "Thank you, thank you for saving her!"
Kyota gave a light nod.
The boy's father, now calmer, invited Kyota out to sea with him. "You helped us. Let me show you the sea's gifts."
They rode out on a wooden fishing boat, gliding past coral reefs and under the high morning sun. Together, they hauled nets full of fish and tossed bait skillfully into streams and eddies. Kyota listened carefully as the man explained the ways of ocean currents, the dangers of rip tides, the signs of tsunamis, and how to navigate using stars and gull patterns.
"The ocean has moods," the man said. "It sings before it kills. Respect her, and she'll feed you."
Kyota absorbed every word.
But peace didn't last.
When they returned to shore, a group of men stood outside the house—five in all, clothed in merchant robes, though their eyes reeked of greed.
"The debt must be paid," one of them growled.
The fisherman stood between them and the house. "I told you. I'll pay—just give me time."
One of the men snatched the girl and pulled her forward. "Then give us something else. I'll make an exception. Let me have your elder daughter. I hear she's… delicate today."
The mother gasped. "She's with the doctor—she's sick!"
Kyota stepped forward. "What happened to her?"
"It's a curse," the mother whispered. "Not a wound. It won't heal—it needs curing."
"Where did the curse come from?" Kyota asked sharply.
Before the mother could answer, one of the men spat. "Stay out of this! We made a deal. They owe us!"
Kyota narrowed his eyes. "So you're bargaining a child?"
The leader sneered. "She's ten, but a girl can practice her role… in my bed."
That was it.
Kyota's body flickered with power. He stepped forward, gently pushing the girl behind him. "Come with me," he said to the men, his voice like a storm brewing beneath calm waves.
He closed the door to a back room. Screams echoed a few moments later. When the others rushed in, the five were crumpled on the ground, unconscious and bloody.
Later that evening, the elder daughter returned with an old man and a girl—another healer.
"The curse is real," the old man said grimly. "But curing it will be costly."
"Show it to me," Kyota said.
The girl looked away, hesitant. "It's… in a private place."
Kyota softened. "Then draw the pattern in the sand. Or show it if you're comfortable. Either way is fine."
The girl nodded slowly. She turned, gently loosened her robe, and revealed her chest. A cursed pattern, black and jagged like roots, spread across her skin near the heart. Kyota looked away politely.
Then his eyes turned sharp. He turned to one of the beaten men still conscious. "Where did this curse come from?"
The man, trembling, muttered, "The Black Root… we got it from them…"
With a clenched fist, Kyota knocked him out cold.
He approached the girl. "I've seen this before." He took a small vial—one he had confiscated earlier from the man—and poured its contents onto the sand, mixing it with saltwater and healing herbs. A faint glow emerged.
Kyota muttered a chant, pressing the antidote to the girl's chest. Her eyes widened—then relaxed. The pattern sizzled… and vanished.
"It's done," he said.
The family cried out with joy. The old man bowed deeply.
Kyota pointed toward the woods. "There's a knight I know stationed there. Hand them all to her. She'll know what to do."
They offered him gold, pearls, even a treasured sea gem—but he declined.
"The knowledge your son gave me was enough."
He stepped back on his boat, sail ready. As he untied the ropes, the little girl ran forward and bowed.
"Thank you again, big bro."
Kyota turned with a smile. "Will I see you again?" she asked.
He smirked. "Let the future decide."
As the boat drifted into the deep blue, he looked back once more.
"Oh, and by the way… I never said my name. It's Kyota Yoru."
The girl and her family waved with teary eyes.
"You were like a blessing to us," the boy said. "A hell's blessing."
And so, as the waves rolled and the wind picked up, the young man—his black hair catching moonlight, streaked with a crimson tint at the edges—sailed onward.
Toward the Kingdom of Water Spirits and Mages.
And as the sun fell beyond the horizon, Kyota's eyes gleamed with fierce resolve.
On alternate days, he earned two titles—blessing and curse. But to Kyota Yoru, it was all the same. For he bore them both to protect the innocent, no matter the cost.